Konrath, J.A. - DRACULAS (A Novel of Terror)

Jenny pictured Randall.

Big, clumsy, stupid Randall.

Loyal, loving, brave Randall.

“Yes,” she said, surprising herself with the certainty of her conviction. “He is.”

Lanz

KURT Lanz, MD, inhaled through the scorched, gaping hole in his face where his nose used to be. Part of him—the rational, thinking part—knew that when he’d yanked off his burned nose to eat, he’d managed to deviate his septum. But that didn’t matter now.

All that mattered was blood.

After killing the lights, he’d scampered to the geriatric ward, giddy with the thought of defenseless old people. But it had been picked clean.

Next, he’d gone to the Birthplace, but found the entrance locked. He couldn’t fit through the small window hole in the door, which infuriated him, because he could smell humans in there.

Oncology was next and yielded similar results. The beds were empty, the ward in disarray. Lanz tried to squeeze a few drops of blood from a severed leg he’d found on the floor, but it had been sucked dry. He made do chewing on a blood-soaked bed sheet, swallowing the torn strips.

The many others roaming the halls had sensed their blood supply gone and begun to turn on each other. Lanz even joined in, pouncing on a smaller creature—a teenager—that was being eviscerated by a group of larger adults. Lanz got away with a kidney and half the liver.

Neither soothed the growing ache in his belly.

He craved blood.

He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

Half-insane with bloodlust, he remembered that bitch up in pediatrics. Jenny. Assuming she’d been resourceful enough to fight off the horde, perhaps she was still alive. Maybe she’d even managed to protect some of the children.

The innocent, defenseless, delicious little children.

Only one way to find out…

Lanz slunk into the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time, his mouth salivating at the thought of the nurse’s sweet, warm blood.

Stacie

AT first, she thought she’d lost consciousness, but the pain was still there, like her back was ripping itself apart, and then the lights returned, only in a much diminished state—nothing but a cold, blue glow emitting from the battery-backup above the door to her room.

Two figures emerged out of the shadowy corridor—Adam and Nurse Herrick hurrying back.

“What happened to the lights?” Stacie asked through gritted teeth.

“I don’t know,” the nurse said.

“Epidural,” Stacie moaned. “I didn’t want it, wasn’t part of the plan, but now—”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Nurse Herrick patted her hand.

“What do you mean ‘sorry’? I can’t keep…” Her voice trailed into another groan as Adam came around and put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” she seethed through the pain.

“Baby, this too shall—”

“Oh my God, if you quote another fucking bible verse, I’m gonna rip your eyes out of your head. Nurse, get me the epidural.”

“I’m not qualified to administer it.”

Desperate now, she pleaded, “How hard can it be?”

“It’s a spinal block. I could accidentally paralyze you for life. You could get an infection and die. It takes a high level of skill that I don’t have.”

Stacie glared at Adam, felt a rush of anger flooding through her.

“You can do this,” he said. “I know you can. You’re so beautiful.”

She shook her head. “You did this to me. You did, and I will never forgive you as long as I—”

“Stacie—”

“Stop. Talking.”

The nurse perused one of the cabinets, finally emerging with a flashlight. She came around to the foot of the bed and lifted Stacie’s gown.

“I need to push,” Stacie begged. She’d never wanted anything so badly.

“Not yet.”

“ Why? ” She could feel the nurse’s hands probing under her gown.

“You’re almost fully dilated,” Herrick said. “I can’t believe how fast you’re progressing. Wait until the next contraction, and when it comes, you grab your husband’s hand and push like you’ve never pushed before. But not on this one.”

She thought about crushing the bones in Adam’s fingers and this made her briefly happy.

“ Don’t push,” Herrick warned.

“I’m not! Adam?”

He was suddenly right there.

“What, baby?”

“I’m never doing this again.”

“I know.”

And suddenly she could breathe again, her chest heaving, sweat running down into her eyes. A break between the bouts of torture.

She could hear more gunshots blasting in the hospital.

“Are the doors out there holding?” she asked.

“Don’t think about it,” Adam said.

“Please check.”

Her husband hustled out of the room as Nurse Herrick fed her another ice chip. “This is the threshold, Stacie,” she said. “I’ve seen a lot of women at this point, where you think you can’t go on, and you know what?”

“What?”

“Babies get born, every day.”

“So what do I do?”

“You breathe through it. Just breathe. The baby’s coming no matter what you do.”

Adam returned. “The barricade’s still in place.”

And then it came, a contraction a step above all others, a new revelation of pain, and Stacie felt the ring of fire her girlfriends had joked about—nothing in the history of language had been so aptly named—and the voices in her ear all swirling, yelling, Push! The head’s coming! You’re almost there! Just a little longer!

Three minutes of the most intense pain of her life, and all she could think was, There better be a motherfucking baby at the end of this contraction, and when it finally, mercifully passed, it was like coming up for air after three minutes underwater.

She didn’t hear any crying, just her husband’s voice in her ear, distant and echoey, telling her how great she was doing.

Nurse Herrick was right at her ear.

“The head is halfway out. Baby’s in a good position. You push it out next contraction.”

Next?

She was nodding, and before she could wrap her head around the concept of “next” she was pushing again, her throat raw from screaming, screaming for what seemed like hours through unending pain, and then her head fell back into the pillow. She was done. She had nothing left. She quit, because the contraction was over and still this thing was inside of—

A small, precious cry brought her head instantly up off the pillow.

Nurse Herrick stood at the foot of the bed, holding a tiny creature, suctioning its mouth and nose, and then a baby-cry erupted and this living, squirming creature was on Stacie’s chest, blue and covered in vernix, all the anger, fear, and pain replaced by a shot of the most all-encompassing joy she’d ever known, and Stacie was sobbing, and Adam right there with her—strong, beautiful, loving, perfect Adam—and he was crying and patting their baby’s back.

“You’re amazing, baby,” he said, laughing. “Both of you.”

She could feel the umbilical cord pulsing against her stomach.

“I’ll leave you two for a minute,” Herrick said, and as she slipped outside, Stacie looked at Adam, touched his blue-lit face.

“Should we check?” she said.

“Check what?”

“If this is Matthew or Daniella.”

Adam laughed. “I hadn’t even thought of it.”

“Introduce us,” Stacie said.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Stacie turned her head away as Adam lifted their cooing baby and then eased it back onto her chest. He had tears in his eyes when she looked back.

“Stacie,” he said, and she looked down into the little face, eyes struggling to open, staring cross-eyed right into hers. “I’d like to introduce you to your daughter, Daniella.”